Dark Blessing
by Juclesia
Summary: A BV fic. Enjoy, and please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

Dark Blessing: Chapter 1

Juclesia

Bulma awakened in the darkness, the resounding boom of thunder drawing her from her fitful slumber. She lay still beneath the satin sheets, her breathing shallow, her heart pounding rhythmically in her ears. She despised thunder storms, the way they would seemingly fall upon her home in particular; almost like a bad omen. She hated the way the room would flash occasionally with the eerie glow of lightning, casting uncanny shadows among the walls and corners.

And it was even worse, knowing that there was no one beside her to comfort her in her time of childish fright.

She longed to have him with her again, having his arms wrapped around her, or even just knowing that he was there and would protect her when danger would threaten. Instead she lay alone in the capacious bed, inexplicably cold even while under the rich comforters and blankets. It didn't seem right, being alone in a bed that could at least fit three.

They weren't even certain how it'd happened All they knew was that his ki had utterly vanished, meaning only one possible thing: his death.

And already two months had passed.

But how? Goddamn it, how!

Bulma clenched her eyes shut in torment at the painful memory of first learning of his disappearance— at the persistent tendrils that wound mercilessly around her heart.

They had had a bicker the night before he vanished, one that caused her conscience to throb with unbearable guilt. But still, it shouldn't have been enough to provoke him to leave her. For God's sake, they'd had fights all the time, for years; what would have made that particular one any different?

And even if he had, for some peculiar reason, left her, to perhaps cool off in his characteristic way, he would have come back.

Bulma's heart went into a sudden spasm as another boom of deafening thunder rolled what seemed like right overhead, and her eyes snapped open in panic. It was then she felt the familiar tickle in her eyes as tears of either fear or sorrow, or perhaps even both, leaked from the corners.

On their own accord, her knees came up to her chin as she withdrew into a fetal ball, her arms winding tightly around her shins for deceptive comfort. "Vegeta," she whispered hoarsely, her voice constricting from a threatening sob. "What happened to you?"

The few minutes that lulled by after that seemed unreal— time itself seemed unreal, in the duration of her emotional anguish. And before she drifted off into a dreamless sleep . . .

Bulma could have sworn she'd felt someone's eyes upon her.

* * *

A/N: please believe me, if you've read any of my other stories, you know I don't write chapters this short. Even though I labeled this as _Chapter1, _it really is just a prologue. Other chapters **_will _**be longer---- much longer. Anyway, please please please please **_PLEASE_** **_REVIEW!_**


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

Dark Blessing: Chapter 2

Juclesia

The night's breeze was cool. Not a crisp chill, but actually quite comfortable as it grazed past him ever so gently, as though treating him like a fragile doll. But little did it know that it needn't be, not with him of all people.

With months of experience he was able to stand absolutely still without being noticed, his dark frame hidden beneath the tree's shadows, while his eyes fed stealthily off the scene that lay before him.

Off in the distance, laughter and joy rang resonantly in the air, and the figure watched as his former "friends" as they'd called themselves, jovially conversed with one another. A particularly short one, who remained close to the house, stood resolutely despite his height, his head tilted back as genuine laughter tumbled out of him; in front of him was a much taller, his unruly locks cascading to the small of his back, his lips moving yet the words muffled by others' voices.

And a few yards away from them, another man stood, joking with his wife, his son between them with bystander's ears. His hair was mussed as well, as it always was, and the next moment he brought a sheepish hand to the back of his head.

At this particular one, the vigil eyes narrowed dangerously. _Kakarrot._

It was funny, how casual and carefree they were. Did they really believe themselves safe? Safe from him? Safe from the world? It was possible it was arrogance of their inhuman abilities, or perhaps it was simply naivety that contaminated their inexperienced minds.

_Soon, Kakarrot . . . soon._

In a way, the predator wasn't certain why he was even there, watching them enjoy themselves with their childish games and jokes. He considered it momentarily to be a sense of unwanted nostalgia, of recalling all those times in which he himself had been in that scene, leaning casually against the wall, joining in with an occasional chuckle here or there, even though it would be nothing more than cruel amusement.

But it didn't matter anymore. That was over.

For now he had a devious plan, a plan that presently caused a wicked smirk to claim his smooth, pale lips.

* * *

"Want something to drink, Bulma?"

Wearily, almost disoriented, the blue haired woman turned to the sudden loud voice that jarred her from her troubled thoughts; she was silently grateful for Chichi's interjection.

When Bulma didn't answer as quickly as she'd been hoping, Chichi pressed on. "Some— coffee? Soda? Beer?"

Bulma considered the options, imagining the comforting liquid on her lips and on her thick, dry tongue. "S-sure."

"What'll you have?"

"Uh— I guess some coffee would do just fine."

All went as quiet as it'd been before as the hostess disappeared from Bulma's line of sight to do her bidding. Meanwhile she sank into her previous position of when she'd drifted away from the real world, her listless gaze riveted upon the table.

It was a delayed reaction when she processed the screeching of the withdrawn chair, a sound she should have heard seconds earlier, and she looked up to find her friend patiently holding the mug out to her. Unthinking she took it gingerly from the soft, aging fingers, and set it on the table. She watched in odd fascination as wisps of steam rose hypnotically from the hot liquid.

"So how'ya dealing?" Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, yet still it had the power to alarm the depressed scientist.

"Oh—fine," Bulma lied, bringing the very edge of the mug to her pursed lips, allowing just enough access so she wouldn't feel the actual searing of the contents against her mouth.

Their was no response from Chichi.

From outside came a sudden ear piercing cackle, and Bulma turned her head just in time to see a flash of orange sprint past the window. She forced a smile onto her throbbing lips; it felt foreign and strange, as though she hadn't done it in so long. "Sounds like they're havin' fun." She forced the grin to broaden only slightly, and it felt as tight as a rubber band before it snaps. "I'm glad."

Bulma could almost feel the tension that followed this eerily delighted comment. When she turned back to Chichi, she was met with a suggestive grin. "Yamcha's out there, you know," she said, "you should go talk to him; I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."

It was difficult to prevent the following scoff. She knew her friend was doing her best to get Yamcha and her back together again; it was quite blatant. But still, she couldn't imagine ever being at that two-timer's side again. "Please—. Me and Yamucha are friends, and that's all we'll ever be. Besides, I'm sure there's a lotta blondes out there he'd much rather be with."

Chichi's smile faded, and no longer did she bother hidingherconsternation. "Bulma . . . Vegeta's gone." Her words hit Bulma so suddenly, so hard, and she felt inexplicably empty as a warm hand rested on her own for unsuccessful support. "And I'm terribly sorry; believe me when I say I know what it's like to be a widow. But you have to move on. You have to move forward in life."

How dare she! Sure, Bulma was certain Chichi had too gone through a hard time after Goku's death— _multiple_ deaths— however,it was still none of her business with her recovery from Vegeta's. So just because her husband had died Chichi expected her to just go out into the world and find another man! Did she not think her love for the arrogant Saiyan true, true enough to have knowledge of her full allegiance to him?

Bulma's arms became tense upon the table, and in a poor attempt to shield her anger, her entire face pulled taut in bitterness. "Look, Chich'," she pressed through clenched teeth, her eye twitching, "I appreciate your concern— I really do; but I'm not going to give up on Vegeta so easily." Her burning gaze raised to meet Chichi. "I know you didn't like him that much, and I agree that he was a total ass; but I loved him, and I'm not going to move on without him just two months after his death! I mean— w-what if he's not even dead! What if he's alive somewhere!"

Chichi's stare shone incredibly steady— almost sympathetic. "Where, Bulma? How could he possibly be alive?"

Bulma's shoulders fell with her stressful sigh. She tore her gaze away from that from her friend— that sympathy that ripped through her heart; she couldn't take it. Meekly she instead focused her attentionon the dark brown liquid within her mug, and at her horrid reflection.

But she found she couldn't even bore into her own gaze, for it too was filled with that heart wrenching pity— that look that told her in unspoken words that she was nothing more than a weakling.

"I . . . don't know."

* * *

A voice had whispered to him, nagging him at the back of his mind; he knew he shouldn't have come. But as he had said, he hadn't done it consciously. Somewhere inside him he was angry with the fact that he had also hoped to see Bulma, to see those familiar strands of blue hair, and that arrogant, boastful smile that would lighten her face when among those other morons. For after all,it was true that they were far beneath her intellectually. And was it really bragging when it was the truth?

But anyway, he was getting too far from the point. Unaware of how it'd happened, perhaps from cursed nature, the short, bald one spotted him. He whirled away from his comrade when catching a glimpse of the silhouette beneath the tree, and began to shout in instinctual panic. Soon the taller one turned as well, and then Kakarrot.

Damn.

Well, he guessed that was his cue to leave.

Furtively he leaped through the damp leaves and into the night air, while below he hearkened to the bellows which were now crescendoing with growing confusion.

And it wasn't long until gasps rose amid the small crowd. Soon they were yelling his name, the name he hadn't heard in what felt like eternity— the name which he himself had nearly forgotten.

Vegeta.

Blast that Kakarrot. Even with his honed skills the other Saiyan still possessed that strange, unpredictable agility, and in the next instant he was inches away from his longtime rival. Vegeta scowled, and attempted to push past him.

But Kakarrot wouldn't let go so easily. He grabbed his shoulders before he had the chance, holding him in place as he shot him that familiar glare of mixed anger and concern that he so despised.

"Vegeta! It really is you! What happened to you! Y-your ki! It's g-gone!"

Vegeta only grunted in response, roughly tearing away from the grip. "Get away from me, Kakarrot!"

His enemy once again boldly blocked his path. "Why are you fighting me, Vegeta! I'm trying to help!"

The idiot! He would never change, would he? With clenched fists Vegeta released a feral growl of frustration. "Persistent fool!" he hissed. "Leave me be!"

Determined, almost desperate, the Prince waved a swift arm, thrusting Kakarrot several feet back by a mighty gust of wind. He then took that second to abscond higher into the sky, and soon after he heard voices from behind him, from the others taking flight to assist Kakarrot.

* * *

"What's all the noise about?" Chichi wondered aloud after having her conversation with Bulma drowned out by the incoherent shouts from outside.

Alert, Bulma's head snapped to the window, her eyes wide and her ears attentive.

Were they shouting . . . _Vegeta_?

Before she had meant to do so, she bolted from her chair, ignoring the sentence Chichi called out to her as she ran out through front door and into the rain. It pelted down upon her, soaking her clothes, ice cold against her skin, but she didn't care. Frantically her eyes darted around the yard, halting upon the cluster of forms in the sky.

There was Yamcha. Krillin. Goku. Tien. Chaozu; Puar. But no Vegeta.

Unconvinced, Bulma continued to scan the surroundings. She almost did a double take when seeing another distant figure, much higher in the sky, his side profile statuesque against the clouded moon, his head inclined against the rain.

_Vegeta._

In that moment, as if he had heard her, his head turned in her direction, and even though she couldn't _see_ his eyes, she could almost _feel_ his intent stare; she knew he was staring right at her.

And just like that, he vanished,

leaving Bulma alone in the rain to hopelessly ponder what she'd just witnessed.

* * *

A/N: okay, for those of you who may be confused at all: this is taking place somewhere in between the end of the cell games and when the buu saga occurs. Now I know in the series, Goku is dead at this time, but in this story, I'm making it so that he _was_ brought back to life

What happened to Vegeta that's estranged him from the others?What is his plan?Andwhat about Bulma? All your questions _will _be anwsered.But in the meantime_**PLEASE REVIEW! **_Give me 9 reviews or more, and I'll get started right away on the next chap. Thanks.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ.

A/N: Damn, I'm too nice.

Dark Blessing: Chapter 3

Juclesia

He'd stopped somewhere miles away, retreating into the innards of a nearby cliff in order to escape the rain, which even for him was beginning to cause his hair to bristle.

That indeed had been a close one, and he did feel foolish.

And the majority of the reason had been to just catch a quick glance at his mate. Oh how foolish he felt. And he knew, he hadn't yet forgotten the promise he'd made himself: never again to be with her.

For he was different now, had a power unimaginable to any normal human— to even Kakarrot and his bafoons. The power he had always desired— falling right into the palms of his hands; now it was time to use it to his advantage, and finally defeat Kakarrot. Perhaps he could go farther than that. Hell, he had the ability to reclaim his title as ruler if he wished. Only this time it would be King, King of Earth— no— King of the Universe!

And no longer need he be associated with his little Earthling wife with whom he'd shared all those years, with whom he'd had a son. He was above that now; he would once again be the mightiest, and his name would once again put fear into all, just as it should have long ago.

But still . . .

Before he had left, before he had taken off into the night, he'd looked into her eyes— those incredibly saddened eyes. Was it really just? To just leave her in the fragile state she was in? So bewildered? So oblivious of the reason for which he'd left her?

Perhaps it wouldn't hurt to see her . . .

One last time.

* * *

Bulma sat in a daze at the kitchen table, just as she had at Chichi's. She raked her fingers through her tangled locks, her eyes large and angry as they bored into the patterns of the maple wood.

It was late, but she was far from tired. While Trunks lay soundly upstairs in bed, ill, Bulma gnawed viciously at her bottom lip as she tried her best to comprehend what had happened, without much success.

"What the hell is going on?" she groaned through quivering lips while her fingers diligently massaged her throbbing temples.

Goku's macabre words still echoed within her mind. _That was Vegeta alright, _he'd said with a creased brow, _but he had no ki. Almost like a phantom or something._

Bulma stared skeptically through her fingers, her glare hardening. _Impossible._

Though it pained her to say this, she wasn't entirely certain whether or not she was glad anymore that she had seen him. It hurt so much, this confusion. And after all, ignorance was bliss.

The others had suggested the possibility of the Saiyan Prince somehow managing to elude King Yama after he'd died, but this theory Bulma discarded as well. _Ugh, it's too much for my brain. I know there's a logical explanation in here somewhere, but right now--- I just can't find it. _Bulma ran a slender hand through her bangs, nearly screeching in frustration when her fingers merely became tangled in the mussed mane.

The sudden, familiar pluck of the doorbell reached her ears, disrupting her train of thought. Not that her ruminations had actually been heading in any particular direction.

What if it was Goku? Coming to bear news? Perhaps coming to inform her that he had finally solved the puzzle, or that he'd once again found her lost husband?

And with this quickening hope, Bulma's pace as she made her way to the front door quickened as well, her bare feet cool as they padded upon the tile.

But when the door opened, when her anticipating hand turned that knob with infesting hope, her smile instantly faded when she instead lay her eyes upon nothing more than her front porch. Puzzled, she braced her hands on either side of the doorway while audaciously leaning out into the pounding rain, her desperate call drowned out by the boom of thunder that struck.

And as soon as that cry for attention sounded through the obscured skies, a brief flicker flashed behind her, before all went black; every light went utterly dark.

Blue brows knitted as the woman's jaw worked fervently. He was pushing it, God. She knew He was testing her— her patience— and frankly, she was sorry to say that he was completely oblivious of just how tight her strings were at the moment.

The door slammed with a bitterness that echoed hollowly throughout the dark, silent household. As Bulma spun on her heel with her fuming gaze downcast, another river of blue light permeated through the drawn curtains. Immediately following came the deafening boom, just as Bulma collided into something hard . . .

Startled her eyes darted up to the obstacle. And for but a split second, with the loitering traces of fluorescence that were rapidly fading Bulma had no time to decipher the humanlike features that shone beforeher, and instead she let out a sharp yelp. But sadly, before her fight-or-flight instinct could react to this intruder, the other's hands were too swift as they lashed out to securely grab hold of her arms. She writhed viciously as she was hoisted from her feet. "Aaahh! Trunks, hel—,"

She was silenced by a strong hand that now muffled her screams, and could no longer breathe as she was pulled hard against a firm chest. Cool lips moved swiftly against her ear. "Shut up!" a harsh voice hissed. "Not another word, you got that, Woman!"

_Woman._

Bulma shook away the grip that cupped her mouth, and leaned back to squint through the darkness. "V-vegeta?" Her voice was but a low whisper, shaken with awe and disbelief.

She felt the ground once again beneath her feet, but no longer was that her worry. How . . . was it possible?

Her eyes having adjusted to the darkness, Bulma could now acknowledge with growing excitement the familiar outline of his finely toned body, his wild, upswept spikes. _Oh, my . . . God._

He sighed. "Yes, it's me; I— _oomph_!"

His words were cut short as the ecstatic woman ran into him, throwing her arms around his waist with such panic and fear of ever losing him again.She buried her face in his chest while letting a genuine simper claim her lips, her heart fluttering. "It's really you! Oh, God, really you!"

The Saiyan grunted again, and his nose crinkled at the thought of showing such weakness as he gave in to the human affection which he hadn't experienced in eternity. Tentatively he settled his hands on the small of her back.

She could feel his resistance, his hesitance, but she didn't give a damn. All she cared about was savoring that familiar warmth, that warmth which she vowed to never take for granted again.

A few more moments drifted lazily by, where the two lovers merely held each other in silence, before Bulma's demeanor transformed altogether.Her eyes flew open in sudden rage, and as though possessed by the Devil's work she sent a firm hand across Vegeta's cheek, followed by a barrage of useless blows with her balled fists upon his chest. "You_ bastard_ how _dare_ you leave me like that how _dare_ you leave _Trunks_ damn you where the _hell_ were you!"

Frantically Vegeta grabbed hold of the hysteric woman. "Quiet! Just shut up and maybe I'll tell you!"

Though Bulma's aggressive movements ceased, her death glare did not. She stilled suddenly, her shoulders rising and falling with each crazed breath. "Oh, you better tell me," she warned, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

Vegeta gave another sigh.

"Was it . . . another woman?"

At this, he grimaced, his expression incredulous. "What? Of course not! Don't be stupid!"

"Well, what then, Vegeta! What!"

"Does it really matter! I only came here to . . ." he paused, as though hesitating, " . . . say good-bye."

Now it was Bulma's turn to be incredulous. "_What_!" She couldn't believe what she was hearing! He was joking, right? Right!

How could he even consider leaving her again, of leaving Trunks again? Did their son mean nothing to him? Did he not know of the countless number of times in which Trunks would look around the room with that childlike curiosity, the same, unspoken question evident in his eyes each and every time: Where's Daddy?

It had to be another woman. There was no other explanation. But Bulma's heart was still stubborn, refusing to accept the truth, slowly tearing with each passing second.

In a quiet, quivering voice, Bulma asked the unthinkable question: "Who is she?"

"I told you, there's no woman!" he practically roared, and if it hadn't been for the drumming of the rain, it undoubtedly would have awakened their son. Vegeta tore his gaze away angrily, sickened by the first visible tear that glided down her trembling cheek— ashamed by how she was displaying such weakness. "I'm— different now, that's all; I've come to my senses. And I've decided finally to fulfill my rightful destiny—," he turned back to face Bulma, "— which does not and never should have involved you."

The last words were pressed through gritted teeth, she could hear it, and that was all it took for her heart, which had been holding on by a thread, to finally shatter.

But still, she was not convinced. "Who is she, Vegeta!"

There was a dull roar that erupted from deep within Vegeta's chest, and for a brief moment Bulma actually cringed when bracing herself for a backhand. But it never came. With audacity she opened her eyes, starting when realizing she was just centimeters away from her husband's face. "I'm—. Different—."

Another wave of light washed over them in that unbearably tense moment, allowing Bulma to witness just how frightening he truly was in his contemptible rage: his dark brows drawn low over those burning, depth less eyes, the lines in his face pulled taut in vexation, his lips contracted to expose bared teeth.

And suddenly, Bulma couldn't breathe.

They were fangs.

"V-vegeta," she rasped hoarsely, nauseating, painful knots twisting in the pit of her stomach. Her knees buckled, and before she could catch herself, she fell to the floor, devastated, petrified, staring up at him with a fear undescribable by words— the kind of feeling one only experiences before their death.

Vegeta towered over his cowering wife with crossed arms, looking down on her with scorn. "Fool. I didn't come here to harm you. I told you, I came here to say my good-byes."

"B-but— h-how? W-when? W-wh— . . ."

_What hell is happening! I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming._

"Yes; I'm— what you humans call— a vampire." His voice was softer, almost meek, muffled by shame.

_Impossible. _"B-but, h-h-how—,"

He whirled on her again with that same feral fury. She wasn't making this easy on him; he was already ashamed of the occurrence, and he doubted he could even force the words through his mouth, even if he wanted to. "I don't know, okay!"

Bulma remained immobilized on the floor, her eyes glistening with tears. After a moment, she spoke through only partially parted lips, her words drawled with horrified fascination. "A . . . vampire?"

How was it possible? How _could _it be possible? Recollection swam back to her, of huddling beneath the covers on a stormy night, when she'd been to exhausted to continue in the lab, indulging in the reading of horror books and thrillers. Dracula and vampire tales had always frightened her the most, and she'd always reassure herself that as a scientist, she knew perfectly well that there was no such thing in existence.

Then what was standing before her now? What was just inches away from her that defied all her logic?

Before she had even realized it, she had already climbed to her feet and boldly closed the distance between him and her, her fingers subconscious as they caressed his cheek in wonder. So smooth.

But he wasn't death cold like the vampires she'd read about, and he wasn't advancing on her or drawing her into his supernatural spell as Dracula would.

Subliminal images flashed as quickly as the lightning outside, displaying pictures of Vegeta writhing on the ground as his skin began to burn away from the cross that had been laid upon his forehead; of him leaping back with an inhuman hiss as garlic drew near; of him turning to ashes in the sun.

Vegeta's glare had softened slightly. He fought against urge to swat her hand away, his mind instead focusing on her disheveled, blue locks that fell onto her shoulders.

But another thought crossed Bulma's mind, one that drew her roughly from her daze. "But . . . Vegeta, surely you're not killing— . . ."

"It's a necessity, Bulma; survival."

Now even worse, more grotesque images infiltrated her mind: Vegeta clamping his jaws down on some innocent bystander in the street, ignoring their wheezed pleas as they grab frantically for their attacker, only to soon fall limp, lifeless, bloodless. "So," she whispered, "that's why you have no ki."

At this, Vegeta couldn't suppress the smirk that tickled his lips. "Yes," he said wryly, his voice low and husky. "I'm dead."

_Dead. A walking corpse._

"And now you see why I have to leave." His tone was serious again, and Bulma failed to decipher whether or not it was a question or a statement.

But nevertheless, her wide-eyed gaze fell upon the floor as her mind still scrambled to grasp what was happening, her head giving a ramshackle nod as her eyes drifted shut to prevent the new batch of sadness and confusion and fear that threatened. _Oh, Vegeta, please tell me this is a dream._

"It's not a dream, Bulma."

It took a moment for Bulma to process his words— the words that concluded it all--- and in shock her eyes snapped open, her arms reaching out to coil themselves around his waist, only to grab nothing but darkness.

He was gone.

Again.

But she knew why now, so shouldn't she have been content? Shouldn't she have been content with his reason for leaving her? For it really was a good reason.

But still, it wasn't enough. Her heart didn't care what he was, it loved him either way.

"Vegeta."

So that was it? What, she'd never see him again? Or would he come in to visit her on those stormy nights, when she wrapped her arms around herself in meek protection against the monsters of her nightmares?

Having fallen to her knees, Bulma ran her fingers viciously through her hair, only to leave them there, and let them curl in devastation with her locks entrapped within her now clenched fists.

_Vegeta._

* * *

He ignored the rain as it pounded upon him mercilessly, as though admonishing him for his actions.

He had no reason to pity her, to sympathize her; she understood perfectly well his reason, and had even nodded in agreement.

In reality, he was just glad to have finally gotten out of there, for the smell had almost driven him mad. Her scent had been intoxicating, nauseatingly sweet, even after he'd fed to prevent it. And he was truly thankful for the blue locks which had obscured her slender neck from his hungry view.

Vegeta smiled suddenly, a cynical, terrorizing grin, one he hadn't had shown since he'd been working for Frieza.

And now that the guilt which had inevitably wormed its way into his conscious was gone for good,

it was time to put his plan into action.

* * *

A/N: Vampires have always been my specialty, so I just thought I'd try it with a B/V. If you don't like, I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I'm going to continue regardless what you think is "right" or "sick". So anyway, **_PLEASE REVIEW! Please, to those of you that are reading but not reviewing, I need your thoughts! So PLEASE REVIEW!_**


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